


I See a Road Ahead

by JojoJay



Series: Far Beyond [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Baby Matt McGinnis, Baby Terry McGinnis, Domestic Batfamily (DCU), Gen, Title From an ABBA Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JojoJay/pseuds/JojoJay
Summary: Bruce finds two children in an alleyway, covered in blood and tears, and suddenly his brood of nine becomes eleven. His kids wonder what's next.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Matt McGinnis, Batfamily Members & Terry McGinnis, Matt McGinnis & Terry McGinnis
Series: Far Beyond [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006110
Comments: 6
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First of all, thanks for checking this story out! I noticed a significant lack of baby Terry and baby Matt content in the fandom and I have decided to change that! It's been a while since I've written something remotely like this, so apologies if you notice anything wrong!

In the grand halls of Wayne Manor, outside Bruce’s favoured office, nine children, in both age and maturity, linger in the allocated waiting area.

“Well, we’re gonna have to tell them something. We can’t just keep them in the dark forever.”

“Honestly, I think all of us would rather keep a couple of toddlers out of this shit.”

“Tt! Todd, you ignorant boor, obviously Father would not put a child in clear danger!”

“Well, he let you out, didn’t he?”

“I think Damian would’ve gone out, regardless.”

The smallest Robin sniffs indignantly, as if the mere suggestion of following rules was a jab at his honour. “Clearly.”

“I’m not saying we should suit either of them up in the Robin suit,” Dick sighs, ignoring the squawk of protest Damian releases at the idea, “but they’re gonna get suspicious if none of us are home. What if they can’t sleep? They’re traumatised kids who just lost their parents, they’re gonna wanna make sure they’ve still got someone hanging around.” Behind him, Jason scoffs - not out of disagreement, just because he felt like it’s been a while since he’s made a snarky comment.

“It’s a good point,” Duke acquiesces, still hesitant about his position in the family. It’s only been a few months, and he’s hardly as stubborn as the rest of the kids gathering outside the study right now. As nice as they all are, he’s not sure how much his opinion means to them. “But they’re still extremely young, right? I don’t know about you guys, but if I was seven years old and just found out my foster parent was Batman, I’d be telling everyone on the playground.”

“So we just don’t tell them?” Harper questions, just as new as Duke but twice as confident. “That seems a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“We could do shifts?” Tim offers. “There’s, what? Ten of us now? Not all of us has to be on the streets. Some of us could stay home, just in case.”

Dick hums, bringing a hand up to his chin in thought. “It’s not a bad idea,” he agrees, voice wavering, “but I’m still a little not sure….”

“What could go wrong?” Stephanie remarks from where she’s sitting on a velvet loveseat against the wall, grubby boots elevated on the coffee table next to it that is currently holding a vase of gerberas. “They’re kids, they’re dumb. All they need is hugs and a couple crayons and boom, you’re their favourite person forever. They’re hardly gonna notice if a few of us disappear into the night.”

“My bet,” Jason comments unnecessarily from the background, catching all eyes, “is Bruce will crack by the end of the month. He’ll pull all the works - adoption, name change, public ceremony, and then boom! Robin number 6.”

Damian’s face, if at all possible, seems to grow even more enraged. “Unacceptable!” He shrieks, voice cracking with prepubescent rage. “Father would never replace me!”

“He replaced all of us, kid, what’s your point?”

Damian’s furious, guttural growl is cut off by Dick’s entertained snort. “Hardly. He never adopted me, remember? He’ll get right to Robin without the adoption bit.”

“Hmm,” Harper hums in consideration, as if anyone had asked for her input. “My guess? Bruce’ll manage for at least a year. Maybe no Robin, but they’re sure as hell gonna find out before Christmas.”

“I think it’ll be accidental,” Stephanie provides. “One of us’ll screw up and pass out from, I dunno, blood loss or exhaustion, or maybe forget to take off a mask or something, and one of the goblins will catch us.”

“I agree,” Cass replies pleasantly, very entertained by the current conversation and happy to simply observe.

“You guys know I’m fully aware of your identities, and I’m not a mask, right?” Cullen adds in from where he was distracted playing on his Switch, sitting upside down in his chair next to Stephanie. “Bruce is perfectly capable of keeping his kids away from heroics, with the correct persuasion. Although, to be fair, I never wanted to jump on the scene.”

“Hmm,” Tim frowns, the bags under his eyes even more defined, “you all make good points. But we’re talking about recently bereaved children and Bruce Wayne. I’m saying the kids’ll pull a nine-year-old Dick Grayson and bully Bruce into making them heroes, as soon as Bruce tells them.”

“That is to say that they won’t find out before Bruce tells them,” Duke pipes in quietly. As the latest addition to the family dynamic, he didn’t know Bruce as well as the rest of them seemed to know him. But he did know children. And children are nothing if not nosy.

The weird looks he gets in return almost make him wish he never said anything.

“Hello?” a tiny voice squeaks from down the hall. In unison, nine heads turn to face the tiny form of seven-year-old Terrance McGinnis, silhouetted against the glow of the ceiling lights.

“Aww, hi Terry,” Steph coos, because despite her earlier jests about children in general, she isn’t a monster. Clambering to her feet, she swoops forward and meets Terry at his level, “everything alright?”

“Um,” Terry hesitates, fiddling with his hands, eyes flitting between her and the others still staring back at him, as if he were some foreign specimen that didn’t belong, “I’m looking for Bruce,” he finally speaks, quiet as a mouse, eyes settling on Stephanie. “He said he would read us a bedtime story.”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t be long,” Stephanie comforts, giving his hair a little tousle. “If not, I’m sure Alfred would be more than happy to read to you.”

Terry doesn’t seem too pleased with that idea. But, like a true soldier, he agrees. “Okay,” he draws out, like the disappointed child that he is, “but he better be quick because Matty’s very sleepy!”

Stephanie grins back. “I’m sure,” she stands up to her full height with an exaggerated groan, just to make him giggle, “till then, how bout you go keep him company? I’m sure he’s missing you.”

“No,” Terry replies with all the authority of a child who knows every little thing about his baby brother, “he’s probably eating the sheets. But okay. Good night.”

“Night, Terry-berry,” Steph turns to face the others. “Everyone, say good night to Terry before he cries!”

“I won’t cry!”

Ignoring his cry of complaint, a chorus of “good nights” and “sleep tights” chime at Terry. Before he could even say another word, Stephanie’s shovelling him off down the hall towards the grand staircase he emerged from in the first place.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo, sleep well!” She whispers as she gives his hair one last ruffle before she’s returning to the others, leaving Terry very confused and a little bit suspicious.

Why was everyone outside Bruce’s office? Was Bruce in there? But if that’s the case, why couldn’t Terry go see him? Bruce said that if Terry or Matt ever needed him, they shouldn’t hesitate to go find him. Has Bruce decided that isn’t the case anymore?

No, it couldn’t be. Bruce wouldn’t go back on his promise, the promise he made to him when he showed up at the police precinct and swept him and his baby brother to his stately manor. Bruce had specifically stated, the moment they pulled into the fancy driveway with the pretty pale pebbles that crunched under his bloodied shoes, that no matter what, he will always be there for them. Even if they choose to no longer stay with him, he’ll be there.

Terry wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he got the idea.

Disheartened by the lack of his foster father, Terry trudges his way back upstairs and towards the bedroom he shares with Matt. It used to be a guest room, and they have only been there for one and a half weeks so it wasn’t too special just yet. But it did have a bed for Terry, and a little cot for Matt. 

With a heavy shove, because these doors were not built with children in mind, Terry retreats into the bedroom. It was lit with the night light Matt needed that projected silhouettes of different animals on the walls, and to be fair, Terry liked it too. Their parents hadn’t had much money when they were still there, so Terry had always had to share a room with Matt. When Bruce offered to set up a nursery for Matt, Terry immediately shot him down. He wanted everything to stay the way it was, and that included his and Matt’s room.

The walls in the room were a dark red though, a large contrast to the cracking and stained pale blue wallpaper their old room had. It was elegant and pretty, a sharp contrast to the water stains coming from their upstairs’ neighbour’s heater they couldn’t afford to get fixed. There weren’t even any spiderwebs! The door was heavy and made from a dark, rich wood, probably the real kind of wood and not whatever their old door was made of. Dad said they had to get it replaced once when Terry was a baby because he kept chewing on the frame. The reminder of his parents’ sent a sharp pain through his chest. Terry chose to ignore it.

Terry’s bed lay under the window, like in his old room, upon special request. Across from him, resting against the opposite wall, was Matt’s cot. But Matt wasn’t in it, rather he was sitting on Terry’s bed, sleepily playing with his toy bunny Terry (because Matt was a baby and his favourite word in the whole wide world was his big brother’s name).

The one-year-old (nearly two!) perks up once he catches sight of his brother. “Broose?” he inquires innocently, bright blue eyes blinking up at Terry as if he held all the answers to every question he could ever have.

“No, no Bruce,” Terry sighs, shuffling his feet on the rug of their room. That was another major difference from his old room. His old room had a grubby carpet, stained with years of childhood and who knows what else. The carpets here look like they’d never been walked on.

“Oh,” Matt pouts, but he doesn’t look as disappointed as Terry feels. “Terry read?”

“Ok, I’ll read,” Terry agrees, jogging over to the box with all their stuff, currently sitting in the corner, waiting to be unpacked. “What do you want, The Very Hungry Caterpillar or The Gruffalo?"

“Cat!” Matt squeaks happily. He had grown immediately fond of Damian’s pet cat, apparently named Alfred. Terry shrugs, pulling the book from the pile of their stuff, and hopes Matt won’t be too disappointed once he realises there won’t actually be a cat.

“Alright, Matty, are you ready?” Terry inquires, clambering up onto his bed to snuggle up next to his brother. They must look quite a sight, dressed in their matching onesie pyjamas, black with little red bats across the fabric. Terry felt a little embarrassed wearing it - Bruce’s other kids had laughed when he showed them! - but he loved them. They were his favourite pair of pyjamas back home, and they’re still his favourite pair now!

“Cat!”

“There are no cats.”

“Cat!”


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark when Terry woke up next. Not a single light to illuminate the creepy, unfamiliar room he woke up in. It took him a moment to realise he was in his new bedroom, the one with the heavy door and fancy wallpaper, not the one with the stain on the carpet from when Terry cut his cheek on the door handle and cried for a solid ten minutes before he threw up.

With great effort, Terry forces his way past his exhaustion to properly examine his surroundings. As he’d first picked up, it was dark. The night light must have been pulled from the wall at some point. That’s not good, because what if Matt woke up? Matt’s afraid of the dark, and Terry even more so since that night in the alley.

Clambering to his feet, he shuffles towards the door to go get a drink of water. He hadn’t noticed he was sleeping with his mouth open until he’d shut it and felt just how disgustingly dry it was.

The lights in the hall were dim. With that, plus the added bonus of not really knowing where he was going, it was a struggle to find his way to the kitchen. But it was either that or drink from the bathroom sink and Terry may have eaten from the trash can once but he wasn’t an animal. So, with one last look to check in on Matty, who was fortunately still asleep, and leaving the door open a crack (just in case), Terry makes the journey in the direction he believes the kitchen to be.

He knows the kitchen is downstairs and his room is on the next floor up. So his first point of contact should be the staircase.

He passes many identical doors, and he just hopes he’ll be able to find his way back to his own. From his memory, most of these should be his new siblings’ rooms. He can sort of guess which one would be whose. For example, Dick’s room still has a crayon drawing of his own name on the front, one he’d apparently drawn when he was nine years old and still got lost in the manor.

Across from Dick would be Jason’s room, then. The door was in fine condition, hardly a sign of it being in use. Apparently he didn’t stay in it much, if the lack of wear on the handle was anything to go by. Dick didn’t stay in his room much either, having his own apartment in Bludhaven, but there was something more warm about his room than Jason’s.

Next to Jason would be Tim’s room, cracked open a little because he either forgot to close it before he passed out on the bed, or he just wasn’t in it. From the mess of clothes and computers and plates and other things that shouldn’t sit on the floor, it was hard to tell if he just wasn’t in his room or if he was buried under some collapsed pile of laundry, in need of Terry’s help.

Just to be sure, Terry takes a quick peak through the crack. He can’t tell if Tim is in the bed, but that doesn’t tell him anything. So, he decides to continue on his quest to the kitchen, and if he bumps into Tim then he can ask for directions.

For now though, he’s alone.

He passes by many more closed doors, all with varying degrees of wear and tear. He assumes the one with the oil grease ingrained into the wood so deeply that even Alfred can’t get it out belongs to Harper. Her co-dependence on her brother Cullen suggests he’s next door, either to her side or right across from her. 

Ultimately, he makes it to the stairs and from there, it’s a question of whether to go right or left. Terry still isn’t sure about his directions, and he’s only ever been shown the way to the kitchen when he was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Not to mention everything looks different in the dark, far more foreboding and much less inviting. The lack of anyone around doesn’t help either.

So, with no further clue of where to go, Terry decides to measure out the risks of exploring. He could get caught by someone, maybe the others, or maybe even Bruce. When Terry was back home with his real parents, he used to get in trouble for sneaking out of his room in the middle of the night. He wondered if he’d get in trouble here, or if he could play up the act of grieving child and wiggle out of any sort of punishment they’d deal him. He’d heard about the foster system from Charlie next door. He said you were safer on the streets than you were with a bunch of strangers. But Bruce seemed nice, and Terry liked how big his house was. He could play hide and seek for ages!

Alternatively, if worst comes to worst, Terry could just hide. He’s small, and it’s dark, so it wouldn’t be hard. No one would ever have to know.

With that in mind, Terry ventures left.

X X X

He finds the kitchen in no time! It’s a bit of a struggle, reaching the sink to pour himself a glass of water, let alone actually finding the cups. But he manages, with a bit of grumbling. His old kitchen was hardly this big, let alone shiny. The sink used to drip, even after you turned it all the way off. There were burn marks on the counter from misplaced mugs of coffee and dropped trays. It was hardly this clean. It was a little unsettling to Terry, and made him feel a little out of place.

Deciding to leave those thoughts in the kitchen, not to be touched, Terry leaves, carrying the cup carefully in his two hands, stopping to take a quick sip every few steps. He wonders if he’ll get in trouble for taking the cup back with him to his room, but then decides he doesn’t really care. It’s a big room, he could probably hide it. Not to mention there are probably a hundred cups all like this one, who’s gonna notice if one’s missing?

Carefully retracing his steps, he finds his way back to the staircase. However, before he can make his trek back to his room, he hears a loud yelp of pain, followed by one of the words his mom had always told him to never repeat.

“Jason!” A quieter voice followed the yelp, still loud. It sounded like Dick, oddly enough. “What if one of the kids heard you?”

“Please. It’s 4 in the morning, what toddler is gonna be awake? Besides, I’m allowed to swear, I got a bullet in my fucking shouder!”

Terry couldn’t resist the petulant pout that pulls at his lips. He’s not a toddler. Matt’s a toddler, not Terry. He’s a big kid.

Just to prove to himself that he’s not a toddler, he decides to investigate. Leaving the stairs, he turns right, opposite from the kitchen yet just as dark.

He follows the voices down the hall, pausing when they stop, just within Bruce’s office. Terry has done plenty of snooping in his life, every time he heard his parents arguing about him and Matt, their incoming divorce, and so on. He was basically a professional.

With practiced ease, he tucks himself behind one of the velvet waiting seats and perks an ear to the ongoing argument coming from within.

“I’m doing the best I can, dude, but you’re not making it easy,” comes Stephanie’s voice, and Terry suddenly remembers the bullet Jason is apparently sporting, and connects that to the two bullets that killed his parents in the alleyway.

As tears threaten to ruin his cover, he fights the urge to jump into the office to make sure Jason is okay. If he’s swearing then he’ll survive, right? And not to mention, how did Stephanie know how to remove bullets? And why were they doing so in Bruce’s office.

“Sorry,” Jason bites out, through gritted teeth. “Not good with stitches.”

Stephanie’s scoff is audible through the door. “Clearly. Duke, we’re gonna need some more morphine.”

“Sure,” Duke, who was apparently present with them, falls silent again, and the tension in the air almost immediately dissipates. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

They’re silent again, this time for a little longer, and Terry considers going back to bed, but something is telling him he’ll want to stick around for the rest of this. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it sure as hell isn’t what follows.

“Man, if you’re struggling this bad I can’t imagine how Bruce is doing downstairs,” Stephanie comments, tired sympathy in her voice, and Terry stops breathing.

Was Bruce shot? How? Could it have anything to do with his lack of presence at bedtime?

Terry is a smart boy. He knows if you get shot, most of the time you don’t make it out alive. If Jason made it, and they’re saying Bruce is worse off, how much worse?

On silent feet, Terry races his way back to his room, ignoring the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

Once back in his room, he breaks. He buries his face in his pillow and grieves, for his parents, for Bruce, for his family. He grieves for everything that once was, and for everything that could have been.

He allows himself these few minutes of weakness, before he forcefully pulls himself back from the edge. Bruce isn’t dead. If he was dead they would have been sadder. If he were dead they wouldn’t be joking. If he were dead they wouldn’t have referred to him in the present tense.

With that out of the way, Terry sniffs and devises a plan. Plugging the night light back in, he pulls out his copybook and pencil case from the box of stuff and sets to work.

X X X

The next morning, the cave was buzzing with life. It’s actually what pulled Bruce from his own painful slumber, forcing him back into the world of living, where his chest aches from the bullet wound he got the night before.

With a groan, he announces his consciousness to the world and makes it their problem now.

“Oh, uh, morning, B,” his eldest, Dick, greets on behalf of his brood of children, ever the leader.

“Hnn,” Bruce groans, hoping someone could interpret the cry for help for what it was.

“Hang on, we’ll get you the good stuff,” Stephanie speaks, and thank God for Stephanie Brown. How he hopes she’ll never drop out of medical school.

The relief is immediate, and Bruce releases a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He eases his clenched eyes open and takes in his children gathered around his bedside, all eight of them (it’s mid morning, he figures, Damian would be at school), and breathes a sigh of relief that none of them were in his position.

It’s eleven now, he corrects himself, and the thought is enough to pull an awkward smile across his face. Who’d have ever thought he’d open his doors to one child, let alone eleven? It’s a miracle.

Oh, on that thought, he really should go apologise to Terry and Matt, he was meant to read them a bedtime story. It’s been a while since he was taking care of such young children, and he knows that’s no excuse, but it’s true.

“Oh God, you gave him too much,” Jason snarks, nursing his own wound.

“You try measuring out morphine with ten eyes watching you.”

“How are you feeling, Bruce?” Duke, one of his nicest kids, asks from his bedside, taking his clenched fist into his own gentle hands, calloused from their work.

“Hm,” Bruce shuts his eyes to carefully think over his answer. Here he was, surrounded by the people he loved, and Christ, he wouldn’t change it for the world. Well, barring the bullet hole currently ruining the mood. “Fine.”

His kids exchange awkward looks over his prone form, and Bruce is suddenly alert to the tension surrounding them all. He notices it’s not the usual tension, though. Not like they were preparing to strike out at each other the moment he turned around. It was more like… they had to tell him something.

“What is it?” He decides to just force it out of them. It couldn’t be anything worse than what they deal with on the daily. He’d know if it was.

“Well,” Tim hesitates, exchanging an uncertain look with Cass. “It’s kind of hard to explain, but….”

“Terry made you a card,” Cullen, ever the blunt one of him and his siblings, explains, holding up a crudely folded red card with a child’s scribbles decorating the front. “Somehow he found out you were hurt and made you a get well soon card, complete with illustrations from Matt.”

Bruce holds his other hand, the one not occupied with Duke, out for the card, and Cullen hands it to him. Gently, so as not to damage the two children’s hard work, he opens the card.

HI BRUSE  
I HOPE U FEEL BETTER SOON!! I MADE U A CARD AND MATTY DID THE ART! PLEES DONT DIE  
FROM TERRY + MATTY

The writing was poor, with horrible spelling and all the E’s were facing the wrong direction, but he couldn’t doubt the amount of love and thought put into it.

“We have no idea how he found out,” Dick insists, “but somehow, he did.”

“They’re sweet kids,” Duke offers, a gentle smile belying his thoughts. Oh yeah, they’ll figure this out in no time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy people are liking this story! I hope to be able to continue exploring this story, if only in little one-shots and snippets, but anyway, I hope this was a satisfactory introduction to my AU :)


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